


Kingdom By The Sea

by murron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Related, Hand Job, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-01
Updated: 2010-05-01
Packaged: 2017-10-09 05:57:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/83764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the theory that if angels could visit humans in their dreams it just might work the other way round, Bobby sent them to a shaman in San Francisco</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kingdom By The Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Up to and including 5x18  
> Standard Disclaimers Apply
> 
> a/n: Follows _Point of No Return_

Two weeks after his Hail Mary outside the Green Room, Cas remained missing in action. They tried calling and, when that didn’t work, tried summoning him. When Sam left the second message on Cas’ voicemail, Dean had a feeling they were running out of good ideas. Not that it would stop them from trying.

Based on the theory that if angels could visit humans in their dreams it just might work the other way round, Bobby sent them to a shaman in San Francisco of all places. The guy ran a tattoo parlor and looked more like a member of the local Hell’s Angels squad than a medicine man.

“Dig the tats,” Dean remarked, taking in the phoenix and skulls decorating the man’s arms up to the side of his throat.

The comment earned him a dirty look and a curt, “Smartassery charges extra.”

Ray the shaman (go figure) led them to a back room which reeked of rotten apples. Kicking some candle stubs out of the way, Ray walked to a mattress leaning against the wall and tipped it over without ceremony. The mattress hit the floor, coughing out a plume of dust.

“That missing friend of yours,” Ray said, “He came to your dreams before?”

“Yeah,” Dean answered. “Couple of times.”

Standing by his shoulder, Sam threw him a weird look but said nothing.

“Then you’re the happy volunteer,” Ray grumbled, nudging the mattress with his boot. “Lie down.”

“Man, the romance is killing me,” Dean muttered but shut up quickly when Ray glared, bushy eyebrows descending. Secretly he wondered if Cas would even want to see him. Going from the last words passed between them chances were Cas would kick his sweet ass back the way he came.

While Dean stretched out on the mattress, Sam sat down on the floor, worry edged into his face. Dean tried to smile at him but didn’t quite manage, not when Ray poured some syrupy, brown slosh from a flask into a cup. Somehow Dean doubted Ray needed a drink. As the shaman poured, the carrion stench inside the room intensified.

“We need something he carried with him,” Ray explained. “Something that remembers his touch.”

“He had a cell-phone,” Dean began before he remembered Cas had taken that with him. He raked his brain for anything else Cas might have left behind, but the angel had left no trace and certainly no possessions. The boxcutter might have worked but Dean threw that away after he’d finished edging the sigil into Cas’ unprotected skin.

“Here,” Sam said and to Dean’s surprise, pulled the amulet from his pocket. When it vanished into Ray’s meaty fist, Dean felt the absence of its weight around his neck for the first time in a long while.

“I didn’t think you’d keep that,” Dean murmured while Ray started chanting over the necklace.

“That’s because you’re a moron,” Sam returned pleasantly, cheeks dimpling. For once, Dean had to agree.

When he had finished his chants, Ray sat down cross-legged on the other side of the mattress. He told Dean to keep the amulet in his left hand before pressing the foul-smelling drink into his right.

“Drink that,” Ray ordered before adding, “Bottoms up.”

Pushing up on his elbows, Dean stared into the cup and eyed the sluggish liquid with suspicion. Couldn’t be worse than the potion Ruby forced down his throat when he was spitting blood on the floor. “Cheers, I guess,” he muttered before lifting the cup to his mouth.

 

\---

 

Dean fell asleep on Ray’s mattress and woke up on a bed, flooded by the scent of freshly aired sheets. Sitting up on the coverlet, he swallowed back the sticky sewer-taste of the shaman’s potion and tried to place his surroundings.

The room was small but the single window took up most of the left-hand wall, meager light filtering through threadbare curtains. Sliding off the bed, Dean noticed a single white shell on the nightstand. Other than that, nothing indicated anyone lived here. Even the bed looked untouched.

The bedroom door led into a shoebox kitchen which in turn opened on a room that was entirely empty: no furniture, no pictures on the wall, not even a light-bulb on the ceiling. There was another large window, though, and an open door leading outside.

Leaving the house, Dean stepped onto a wide porch made from gray wood. Trees rose on either side of the building but up ahead, a wide swathe showed a strip of pale beach and the ocean beyond.

Dean marveled at the view, not sure what to make of all this. He’d expected a prison, some sort of limbo, maybe. Not a snapshot from some eco-tourism brochure. He began to fear he’d come to the wrong place when suddenly down on the shoreline, a narrow figure moved into view.

He didn’t wear the damn trench-coat but from the way he walked, Dean recognized him anyway. Cas always squared his shoulders as if his back had to accommodate the weight of his wings. For a second, Dean couldn’t move, heart clenching painfully in his chest. 

Cas trudged up the swathe, his shirt stark white against the clouded sky. The wind blew in from the ocean, carrying the smell of brine and… what? Eucalyptus trees?

Deciding to put off the moment he had to face Cas a little longer, Dean sat down on the porch steps, clasped his hands between his knees, and waited.

When Cas noticed him his steps faltered, but by the time he reached the house his face didn’t betray any surprise. He didn’t even look long at Dean, he just sat down next to him. Snatching a sidelong glance, Dean noticed Cas still hadn’t replaced the tie.

“You’re a hard angel to find,” Dean said, looking back out at the ocean.

“This place isn’t for humans,” Cas returned as if that explained anything.

“What is it anyway?” Dean wanted to know.

“It’s a threshold,” Cas answered. “The place we come to when we’re banned.”

“All the angels come here?”

“No.”

Dean took another look around, taking in the empty porch and the ragged posts that looked like driftwood. Even though the house was set back from the beach, the sand reached all the way up to the short flight of stairs. The sea breeze had spread silt and eucalyptus leaves on the floor boards, giving it an air of disheveled austerity.

It seemed like the perfect place for a nerd angel who didn’t know how to keep the buttons closed on his cuffs.

“This is yours, isn’t it?” Dean asked. “Your own little cabin by the sea?”

Castiel didn’t answer but Dean thought he’d hit home anyway. Somehow Cas had managed to set up a private pocket in the angel bleachers, most likely made up of some place he remembered.

It helped a little to know that when Cas had sigilled himself, he’d reached a sanctuary at least. The place was nice enough. Dean felt almost at peace, listening to the rustle of the trees blending with the sound of the sea.

“Did you say yes?” Cas wanted to know and suddenly his voice didn’t sound so much detached as controlled.

Dean clenched his hands but didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he admitted. “I took it back, though.”

For an apology, it sucked big time, but what else could he possibly say? That he burned with shame, considering how close he came to giving up? It didn’t make a damn difference now and wallowing in self-hate would get him nowhere. Especially with Cas.

He turned to face the angel, his smile pulling painfully at the tender spot on his chin. “Want to take another swing?”

“You took it back,” Cas repeated and Dean shrugged.

“He must have liked that.”

Deadpan, not even a muscle twitching in his face, but somehow Dean picked up on the humor. Or he hoped he did. He never had much luck figuring Cas out, not even when he tried.

As if to prove Dean’s point, Cas reached over without warning, thumb brushing the cut on Dean’s lip and the touch woke an old pain that had little to do with his split mouth.

Dean remembered the night after Sam faced off Famine, fighting to shake off the horseman’s influence and hanging on by a thread even then. With Sam locked up in the basement, Dean had tackled Cas, desperate to prove Famine wrong. He didn’t calculate on Castiel’s reaction – if he calculated on anything. Instead of pushing him off, Cas took Dean’s need and radiated it right back, both of them crossing the lines so fast there might have been no limits in the first place.

When he was alive, Jimmy might have drooled for the Burger King special but Castiel’s hunger turned out to be a whole different animal. He’d been inside Dean’s pants inside two breaths, no-holds-barred, and Dean came in his hand without even a stitch of clothing removed.

They didn’t talk of it after, although Dean caught Cas looking at him strangely a couple of times. Other than that, he took Dean’s no comments policy to heart and Dean had been grateful for it.

When he thought of how he’d baited Cas back at Bobby’s place, the guilt left an ugly taste in his mouth.

_The last person who looked at me like that? I got laid._

_Yeah_, Dean thought. Not one of his good moments.

Looking at Cas, he had a notion he didn’t stand alone with his regrets. Cas seemed to map the damage he’d done to Dean’s face, his gaze flickering from Dean’s lip to his bruised cheek. He made a little sound, almost as if he clucked his tongue, before pressing his lips into a thin line, the bad conscience written all over his face.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist. I’m still in one piece,” Dean assured him but Cas wouldn’t go for it.

“Only because I pulled my punches,” Cas muttered and Dean almost laughed. Cas didn’t fare too well in the apology department either but that was okay.

“So. Where is this?” Dean asked, moving them past a whole range of awkward talk.

Cas’ eyes drifted back to the beach and the gray sky. “Uruguay.”

“Of course,” Dean huffed. Where else? Far out on the ocean, he could see sheets of rain blowing across the waves. “Weather could be nicer,” he ventured.

“It’s not weather,” Castiel corrected. “I think it’s Raphael and the others. They’re looking for a way in.”

Dean watched the darker wall of clouds massing on the horizon and felt a chill run down his spine. “What happens when they find you?”

Cas' pointed look told him to stop asking stupid questions. Right on cue, the wind picked up, moist air brushing Dean’s bare arms and spreading goosebumps along his skin.

“We should go inside,” Cas suggested and Dean agreed whole-heartedly.

 

\---

 

Dean followed Cas into the kitchen, feeling better once the walls stood between them and the open range. With no electric lights, the house was dim but oddly comforting. Dean decided he liked the place. Clean to a dot, the kitchen still looked a little worse for wear with welts of laminate peeling off the cupboards. Disillusioned by Heaven’s sugar-coated model homes, Dean appreciated the lack of flash.

“Any chance you have a beer in there?” Dean asked, jerking his chin at the fridge. To his surprise, Cas opened the fridge and pulled out two bottles of Lager. 

“You’re kidding.” Dean grinned, taking the beer from Cas who opened his like he’d never done anything else. _Getting into bad habits there_, Dean thought fondly. He lifted the Lager to his mouth but oddly enough the beer’s bitter, all too real taste recalled him to where he was.

“Electrical signals interpreted by your brain,” Dean muttered, earning a puzzled “What?” from Cas.

“Time to take the red pill, Neo,” Dean quipped before spelling it out for Cas. “You got to tell me where you are.”

“You’re not really here.” Cas remarked, reminding Dean that he never explained how he got here in the first place.

“I’m dreamwalking,” Dean agreed. “What about you? I mean, can you wake up or something?”

“There’s no difference between sleeping and waking here,” Cas said, distracted, walking closer to the window and lifting the curtain aside. When he turned back, he frowned. “I’ve never been here so long.”

“Bobby says it’s probably the sigil that’s locking you down,” Dean supplied, waving his bottle in Castiel’s direction.

“I know,” Cas confirmed, placing his beer on the counter and unbuttoning his shirt. Hesitating, Dean came closer, watching as Castiel bared his chest. If the memory of the boxcutter drawing blood made him feel queasy, the lasting evidence of the mutilation was almost too much too bear.

Even in the shadow, Dean could see the white welts where Castiel’s skin had healed over, leaving the sigil to look like a years-old scar. More horrible than that were the three ragged lines that cut across the Enochian circle. Mouth dry, Dean reached out for Cas’ shoulder and turned him more fully into the light. The scratches were freshly scabbed and hemmed by angry red skin. Cas might have used a shard, or more likely, his fingernails.

“Shit,” Dean hissed, hand dropping from Cas’ shoulder.

“I don’t seem to be able to break it myself,” Cas murmured, touching the edge of the scratches with his fingertips.

“Break it yours— Damn it, Cas.” Dean bit his lip, stomach lurching. Images of Cas’ clawing at the walls of his body flooded his brain and soured the sense of peace he’d had earlier. No matter how nice the place, this house was still a prison. Hand clenching around the bottle of Lager, Dean tried for words and failed. “Don’t. Just… ”

Damn, he shouldn’t carry on like this. He’d seen wounds far worse. But he knew how it felt, being trapped in one place, knowing you couldn’t leave and never getting used to it. All the years in hell he didn’t stop longing for home, for Sam and the simple feel of cool air on his skin.

“Don’t do anything stupid,“ Dean finished his sentence, swallowing around the lump in his throat. “We’ll find a way to bust you out.”

“I don’t know that there is a way,” Cas said, still looking down at his chest.

“Come on, Cas, anything,” Dean pleaded. “A spell, a ritual, there has to be something.”

“It’s never been an issue.”

The lack of emotion in his voice baffled Dean, transporting him back to the weeks after Cas returned from Heaven’s correction camp. He’d sounded just as indifferent then, like he couldn’t care less. But maybe that was the point. Maybe Cas had finally tired of throwing his bet in with Dean. He’d said as much in Van Nuys.

“You don’t want to come back with me, do you?” Dean asked, the words slipping out before he could stop them. At this, Cas head snapped up. “Hell, I could understand,” Dean continued, groping for the right things to say. “You have a better chance fighting off Raphael than… ”

He would have said more but Cas was on him so fast, Dean almost squeaked. One arm against Dean’s chest, Cas crowded him against the cupboards, the small of Dean’s back bumping into the edge of the counter. Flashing back to the alley, Dean braced for a punch but Cas released him just as suddenly. Dean had a glimpse of Cas’ jaw tightening before the angel bowed his head, breathing deeply.

Dean carefully put down his beer, shifting his hip to relieve the pressure on his back. 

“You drive me crazy,” Castiel growled under his breath and Dean couldn’t help but grin just a little.

“It’s been said,” he agreed.

When Cas looked at him this time, his expression was such a picture of _oh please_ it made Dean grin wider.

“You’re not exactly user-friendly, either, you know,” Dean told Cas, swallowing the _I don’t mind_.

Cas seemed to search his face, maybe still debating if he would trust Dean or not. Deciding he had enough of heavy silences, Dean leaned in and brushed his mouth over Castiel’s, just a fleeting touch to Cas’ cool and soft lips. Soft? Who would’ve thought.

Cas sucked in his breath in surprise but he didn’t back off. Instead he copied Dean's come-on, tilting his head to a better angle.

“I think I had this dream before,” Dean cracked and Cas smiled against his mouth.

Dean hadn’t meant for it to go any further, the kiss just seemed like a good idea at the time. But when Cas’ hands moved to his hips, fingers hooking through his belt, he groaned, parting his lips to admit Cas' tongue. Cock swelling slow against the ridge of his fly, Dean let his eyes drift shut, floating in the dark until he smelled frankincense and fermented fruit. From a distance, he could hear someone muttering, a rumbling voice shaping incantations.

Dean’s eyes flew open the same time Cas’ hand closed around his arm like a vice.

“You’re leaving,” Cas accused him, voice tight with distress.

“No,” Dean gasped, even though his heart hammered in his chest. Ray’s back room hovered just out of reach; if Dean flexed his fingers, he would feel the rough texture of the mattress.

He’d almost slipped, going without a clue where to start looking, abandoning Cas in a place with no roads. “No,” he repeated, squeezing Cas’ wrist and feeling the tremor that ran through Cas body.

“Ask me again if I don’t want to come back,” Cas rasped, eyes bright and defiant.

“I hear you,” Dean whispered. There was a tightness in his chest he couldn’t explain, some deep reluctance not just to leave Cas but to leave this place altogether. His gaze slipped past Castiel’s shoulder to the fridge and the bedroom. Cas didn’t need these things. He didn’t drink, he didn’t sleep except when he wanted to.

This house seemed to be one unfinished expression of Cas’ want, pieced together from all the parts Cas had learned he liked and needed. Dean couldn’t help but notice that this place made room for him in every way and that he fit here, like the worn-down cupboards and the bottles of Lager.

It told him more than he was ready to know.

Replacing his hold on Dean’s belt, Cas started to maneuver them in the direction of the bedroom and that was a plain message, too.

Cas must have left the bedroom window open for a crack because once they left the kitchen, Dean heard the slap of the waves down on the beach. Mixed into the voice of the Atlantic, Dean caught a noise that might have been the curtain fluttering or a brief beat of wings. Before he could look, Cas pulled him further into the room.

Cas’ hands slipped under Dean’s t-shirt and that was it, Dean lowered the two of them down onto the bedspread. Pliant to the push of Dean’s hands on his shoulders, Cas stretched out, leaving Dean to straddle his hips.

Once he had Cas on the bed, Dean bent his head and blew gently on the scratches on his chest. Tipping his head back, Cas made a soft, desperate noise, the muscles of his stomach contracting under Dean’s palm. Dean stroked soothing circles into Cas’ skin before he leaned away to wrestle off his t-shirt.

Using the moment, Cas grabbed him, flipped them and put a hand on Dean’s crotch, squeezing his cock and balls through the jeans. Cursing, Dean slammed his hips into Cas' grasp, heels digging into the mattress. When Cas moved to pull off Dean’s jeans and boxers, Dean ran his palm down the curve of his shoulder, pushing back the sleeve of his open shirt. Cas freed his arm with an impatient grunt, struggling with his belt and fly. Dean meant to help him, but his hand found the back of Cas’ thigh instead, fingers digging into firm muscle. When he tugged, Cas toppled forward, pants still on, bracing his arms on the bed before sliding his thigh between Dean’s legs.

Pushing his dick up into the crease of Cas’ hip, Dean shoved at Castiel's shoulder. “Cas, no, you have to… ”

He spread his legs and Cas – always a quick study – moved between them. Grinding down, Cas let out a strained groan and Dean’s breath caught in his throat. Shit, he didn’t know Cas would be vocal. He bucked against Cas’ weight and rolled them over on their side, legs tangling. Covering as much ground as possible, Cas slipped his hand around Dean, cupping Dean’s ass and clutching him tighter.

_Different_, Dean thought. Different than the first time, crammed under the stairs to Bobby’s cellar, Dean trying to evade Cas’ touch as much as he provoked it. This time, Cas reached out and _claimed _and Dean could go with that. He bit his lip, rubbing up against the straining cotton of Cas’ boxer shorts. Cas choked out a frustrated moan and started fumbling at his clothes again.

Easier said than done: Cas still had one arm stuck in a shirtsleeve and Dean realized he couldn’t really move, the dangling shirt trapped under their bodies. When Cas tried to get free, Dean pushed up on his elbow and grinned, earning himself a slap on the arm.

After he had pulled his shirttail from under Dean’s elbow, Cas kneeled to slip out of the remaining sleeve and Dean followed, seizing the waistband of Cas’ open pants and underwear before dragging them down. Cas shifted to get them off all the way, tilting dangerously toward the edge of the bed.

Wrapping an arm around his waist, Dean hauled him back in and curled around him, his knee pressing into Cas’ back. When he reached down to close his hand around Cas’ cock, Cas clutched at his shoulder, his face set in hard, painful lines.

Heart in his throat, Dean used his free hand to smooth Cas’ frown, running his thumb along his brow. “Let go,” Dean said, rough and breathless, using slow, twisting strokes to jerk Cas off.

It was the same hand that had painted the sigil on the locker door, blowing Cas from the panic room. Remembering the look of betrayal on Cas’ face, Dean felt his stomach knot up with guilt and regret.

He wondered if they would always come together for the wrong reasons, waiting for the pressure to build until there was no other way than this. But then Cas said his name and something inside him just broke, splintered to pieces and left him raw with need, nothing else. He might wait for the drop to be deep but once he jumped, the rest didn’t matter.

“Dean.”

Raking his hand through Cas’ hair, Dean pulled him in for a long, messy kiss, swallowing Cas’ moans until the noise seemed to travel down his spine. By now he was so hard it hurt, but he only curled his hand around his own dick, concentrating on Cas and taking care of him. Dean wanted to watch him fall apart, hungering to see Cas’ face stripped of all that tension that came too close to anger and hopelessness.

Anything, anything that would erase the distance that had opened between them in Van Nuys.

When Cas set his teeth to his throat, Dean let his eyes fall shut only to snap them wide open again, afraid of waking up. His hand clenched and Cas swore, forehead knocking against Dean’s.

“Like this?” Dean asked, squeezing Cas, fucking transported by Cas’ flushed cheeks and parted mouth. Cas grabbed for his wrist, gasping out a harsh, “Wait,” but when Dean worked up a quick, tight rhythm he lost all semblance of control, spilling wet over Dean’s hand and thigh. Hips surging up into Dean’s grip, Cas’ breath rushed out of him with a keen, a strangled bird-sound that hit Dean’s stomach like a punch.

He kept stroking Cas through the aftershocks, resting his forehead against Cas’ temple, breathing in the smell of Cas and sex, the clean metal tang of the sea that clung to his cheek.

When he started moving his hand up and down the length of his erection, Cas wrapped long fingers around his fist, licking his way into Dean’s mouth as if he wanted to drink him in. The world kept spinning out of focus, driving Dean crazy with the need to stay grounded and the urge to feel more, tug harder. Just when he thought he’d never get there Cas pinched his nipple without warning and Dean cried out, “Fuck,” and, “Cas,” and came between their laced fingers.

Chest heaving, Dean looped an arm around Cas’ shoulders, half-thinking he could take Cas with him if he just held on tight enough.

“I’m going to find you,” Dean promised, panting ragged words against the shell of Cas’ ear. “You just hold out.”

Cas folded his arms around Dean’s back, a wordless huff gusting against the side of Dean’s neck.

_&lt;i&gt;Believe in me&lt;/i&gt;_, Dean wanted to say but didn’t. The long, hard line of Cas’ body fit easily against him even when they stretched out, Cas kicking their clothes off the bed to make room. As he hooked his knee over Cas’ legs, Dean could already feel the room sway and rock gently beneath him. If he drifted off this time, Cas would slip through his fingers and Dean would lose him to the nowhere of this place.

_&lt;i&gt;Not for long&lt;/i&gt;_, he swore, making a silent vow that he wouldn’t fail Cas twice. Cas murmured something that didn’t even sound like any language Dean knew, spreading his fingers on the small of Dean’s back.

He fell asleep with Cas shoved up warm against his chest and the draught from the window sliding cold along his back.

\---

When Dean opened his eyes to Ray’s water-stained ceiling, his stomach did a lazy turn, forcing the taste of liquid mold back up his throat.

“No place like home,” he muttered, swallowing. His hand flexed on the threadbare mattress, remembering the soft cotton of the bedspread. For a moment, the urge to go back sat heavy on his chest.

The light from a paisley patterned lampshade glowing like a halo behind his head, Ray the Shaman peered down at him. “Got what you need?” he asked and continued before Dean could even think of an answer. “Good. Get out.”

“Great customer service,” Dean croaked before Sam leaned over and helped him up. Gripping his brother’s arm, Dean let himself be pulled to his feet, surprised when his knees buckled under him.

“You okay?” Sam muttered, as they made their way through the parlor.

“Not by a long shot,” Dean grumbled before noticing Sam’s frown. “What’s wrong?”

“You get to Cas?” Sam asked by way of an answer, shoving Dean past a working tattooist and out the door. “Is he in one piece?”

“Sort of,” Dean answered, worry spreading in his gut. “What the hell is going on, Sam?” Walking to the Impala across the street, Sam almost broke into a run.

“Bobby called.”

“And?”

“And he thinks Death is rolling toward Canaan,” Sam said, aiming for the Impala’s driver’s door without hesitation.

“What’s in Canaan?” Dean asked, hurrying after him. Damn, his legs still didn’t work right.

“People,” Sam replied grimly. Seeing Dean stumble, he came back and took his elbow again. For once Dean didn’t complain, grateful for Sam keeping his balance. He didn’t even mind when Sam squeezed his arm for reassurance.

“Can we get to Cas first?” Sam asked, voice softening, sounding almost hopeful.

Dean clenched his jaw, knowing the answer he had to give. “No.”

Sam was quiet for a second, no doubt weighing the odds and Dean loved him for that little moment of indecision. Even if there wasn’t any real choice at all and Sam knew it, too.

“Can he hang in there for a while?” Sam asked.     




Dean remembered Cas coming up the bone-white beach, black thunderheads building on the horizon and couldn’t bring himself to lie. “Let’s move,” he said, making for the passenger side and leaving Sam to drive.

 

_Closing_

Dean kept his promise and didn’t stop looking, but tracking down Cas’ ‘threshold’ took them longer than he expected. It took them a run-in with Crowley, yet another rising of the dead and more Armageddon related crap until they could even start searching in earnest. The weeks and months kept rushing past and some days Dean thought he’d just go crazy with the delay. 

When they finally made it back to the warehouse, the sun already began to set. The Impala waited in the long shadows of the palm-trees, red dusk glinting off the chrome.

Dean left the door open to admit the remaining light while Sam got to work, spraying the complicated pattern of a rune onto the floor. Keeping his back to the container that had held the angels’ reception area, Dean joined him.

“I sure as hell hoped we’d seen the last of this dump,” Dean grumbled as Sam got off his knees, rune finished.

“Connor said getting back to where he vanished would be our best shot,” Sam shrugged, pulling the Enochian dagger from its sheath. Like the rune, it had been a bitch to come by.

“Down the rabbit hole, huh?” Dean asked, staring at the portal rune.

“It’ll work,” Sam said firmly and Dean seized on his optimism.

“Yeah.”

When Sam rolled up his sleeve, Dean reached over to put a hand around his wrist.

“I got this, Sammy,” he said, gently taking the dagger from his brother.

Sam protested fast enough he must have seen this coming. “No way. You’re not going solo. We have no idea what’s on the other side.”

“Do we ever?” Dean quipped, but of course he hoped he knew where he would go. He moved his hand to the amulet around his neck and pictured the house. The few times he’d gone back he always feared Castiel wouldn’t be there. He literally held his breath until he would catch a glimpse of Cas on the shore or stepping out from beneath the trees. On the nights he didn’t dreamwalk, he had nightmares of the storm crashing into the beach-house and heaven catching up with Cas.

“It’s better if one of us stays here,” he said. “In case something goes wrong.”

“Then we go rock, paper, scissors,” Sam demanded, face pinched and pissed.

Dean smiled. “No.”

“You’re like a lemming you know that?” Sam sighed. “Why, man?”

“Because I owe him,” Dean said. He didn’t meet Sam’s eyes, but the deflection was merely pro forma. Sam might be many things, but he wasn’t stupid. He’d caught on to whatever built up between Dean and Cas long before Dean wrapped his head around it.

He always feared Sam wouldn’t understand, but Sam never let him down.

“All right. But if you’re taking too long, I’m coming after you.”

“Whatever you say, Mother.”

He set his foot in the circle, praying that he would arrive ahead of the rain.

 

\---

 

Sam watched Dean move to the centre of the rune and sit down. “Remember to hold on to the dagger no matter what,” Sam told him. “If you lose it there’s no way you can break the sigil.”

“I’m getting too old for this shit,” Dean muttered, arranging his legs until he sat Indian-style.

Sam rolled his eyes, shook his head as Dean pulled the blade across his palm before lowering his hand to the floor. For some inane reason, Dean loved pointing out he was getting ‘too old’ for any number of things. Personally, Sam didn’t see much change in him. If the light fell just so, he would glimpse a bit of gray in Dean’s hair and stubble but other than that? A couple new scars, a weird tendency to stay off the booze… It had been ten years since they prevented the apocalypse and Dean continued much like he always had. Sam, too.

Sometimes Sam marveled at that, thinking there should be more. Other times he simply welcomed the routine of hunting and the road stretching out empty before them. They still hustled their way to money because apparently saving the world didn’t pay a single buck.

Every now and then, Dean would ask that they stay at the ocean for a night or two. Sam never asked why, but his instinct told him these migrations tied up with Castiel’s absence somehow. While Dean walked down to the waterline, Sam stayed behind to pour two shots of Tequila: one for him and one for Cas in memory of the one time they got drunk together over Dean’s attempt to surrender at Michael’s feet.

He missed Castiel but he knew it was different for Dean.

They recovered Adam some time before the angels cleared the field, but even after the dust settled they kept running into walls in their search for Castiel. Over the years, Dean grew quiet but no less determined. He took every dead-end in full stride, moving on to the next vague lead. He slept little, though, save for a couple of nights when he didn’t wake before ten in the morning.

It wasn’t hard to figure out what he did these nights. Sam never called Dean on his dreamwalks, except once when he asked, “How is he?”

Dean twitched like Sam had caught him red-handed, fingers clenching into a rolled-up shirt. “Restless,” he answered and went back to stuffing his clothes into the bag, hands moving too fast.

_He's not the only one,_ Sam thought. He looked at Dean’s stony face now and hoped they would strike gold this time, wanting nothing more than to ease the urgency Dean tried so hard to suppress.

“Break a leg,” Sam said and Dean shifted, tightening his hold on the dagger’s hilt. One more nod in Sam’s direction, then he pressed his bleeding palm flat onto the rune-lines.

“Here goes nothing.”

_fin_

_________________

_01/05/10_

 

_Beta by Auburn, Eretria and blue_adagio @ LJ  
_


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